


Hello Again, Stranger

by Cybra



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: F/M, Feelings Realization, Friendship, Pre-Canon, slightly not canon compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-09-13 20:27:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16899348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cybra/pseuds/Cybra
Summary: Sequel toSaying "Goodbye".Retirement doesn't suit Bentina Beakley, especially now that her daughter has moved out and her husband has passed away.  While searching for something constructive to fill her time, she finds a peculiar advertisement for a housekeeper at McDuck Manor and decides to see if her former partner would be willing to hire on an old friend.





	Hello Again, Stranger

**Author's Note:**

> A sequel to “Saying ‘Goodbye’” I've had in the works for a while. Most of this was written before “Last Christmas!” aired but I couldn’t re-work it in a way to be more canon-compliant that fit the flow of the story, so definitely non-canon on this being Beakley and Duckworth’s first meeting.
> 
> **Disclaimer:** _Ducktales_ belongs to the Walt Disney Company.

There was a problem with civilian life that Beakley hadn’t counted on:

Once her daughter had grown up and moved out of the house, it all could be so bloody _boring._

Not that things hadn’t been routine before, but at least the unpredictability of a child could spice things up from time to time.  She’d been happy all the same, and she wouldn’t have traded a moment of it.

At least she’d had her husband to help fill in the long hours.  Perhaps it was dull and predictable, but he’d surprise her from time-to-time, keeping the romance alive despite decades of familiarity.

The prostate cancer the doctor discovered had been a shock to them both.  Even worse, the awful disease was already too far along to stop since the tests designed to detect it weren’t good enough to find it before it was less of a diagnosis and more a death sentence.  It took less than six months before her beloved companion of almost forty years was gone.

Her daughter had offered to let her stay with her family as she dealt with her grief, but Beakley couldn’t bring herself to stay more than a week with them.  She returned to the house she’d shared with her husband and set to work cleaning things up as she debated what to do with her life from then on.

SHUSH had given her a very generous severance package, most of which was still in savings and had had decades to accumulate interest.  Add to that what they’d managed to save during her husband’s lifetime, and she could live comfortably if a bit frugally for the rest of her life.

And Beakley knew the moment that possibility had crossed her mind that it would drive her absolutely insane.

Taking a few hours to knit was all well and good when she’d had other things to occupy her time besides just cooking, cleaning, and keeping up her training regimen, but doing that day-in and day-out for the rest of her life with nothing constructive to fill the other remaining hours?  She’d be institutionalized in a matter of months.  No, she needed to be _doing_ something.

While browsing the internet one day, trying to find a solution to her predicament, she found a rather intriguing post on a virtual job board:

_WANTED: Highly-Specialized Housekeeper.  Must be exceptional at cooking and cleaning along with being able to defend against home invasion by various threats.  English-speaking preferred though unnecessary as master of the house is fluent in numerous languages but it is highly encouraged the applicant be willing to at least learn for when their duties take them outside the mansion.  Must be authorized to work in the United States or eligible for sponsorship.  Employer is willing to overlook past indiscretions on a case-by-case basis.  Room and board is included in negotiable salary and relocation expenses will be partially reimbursed.  Apply at McDuck Manor, Duckburg, Calisota.  (NOTE: Applicant will NOT be reimbursed for travel related to the interview process.)_

McDuck Manor.  At the name, her hand instinctively went to her pocket where a handkerchief bearing a gold-embroidered dollar sign was kept, pulling it out to look at it.  The handkerchief itself was a little yellowed in places from stains that refused to come out, yet the gold thread still glittered as if brand new despite being at least thirty years old.

Beakley didn’t have to wonder what her former partner had been up to all these years.  When your partner was Scrooge McDuck, the easiest way to check on him without coming into contact with him was to open any newspaper and scan the headlines of the financial section.  Sometimes he could be found in the society section if not top fold of the front page.  In fact, she kept a scrapbook of it all, something her husband had found endlessly amusing.

_“You really got attached to him when you were assigned to be his bodyguard, didn’t you?”_

She gave a sad smile at the memory of his teasing.  The man had never known that the agency she’d worked for had been a spy agency, not a bodyguard services agency.  One of the many, many things she’d had to keep from him.

She looked up from the handkerchief to the job posting.  Cooking and cleaning she could more than handle.  Keeping trash out of her former partner’s mansion would be an excellent way to keep her skills sharp, too.  Admittedly, she’d never considered moving to the States before, but perhaps a change in scenery would do her good, force her out of the rut she was getting stuck in.

She printed off a copy of the advertisement before starting to browse prices for airplane flights to and hotel rooms for Duckburg, Calisota.

* * *

 

Beakley was glad that she’d given herself an extra day to prepare before she attempted the famous Killmotor Hill.  August in Calisota was almost a full ten degrees hotter than in Great Britain (in Celsius, twenty in Farenheit).  Not to mention she had to reset her internal clock back a full eight hours.  Taking that extra day to adjust meant that she would be ready for whatever her former partner threw at her.

Predictably, her daughter had thought she was crazy.  She’d begged her to reconsider her decision in even making the attempt, only managing to convince her not to box up her things and sell the house right away.  After all, Scrooge might have found someone to fill the position already.

She doubted it, but it was wise not to completely burn her bridges.

She wore her most professional dress, something slightly more modest than the dress she’d worn to that auction during the Black Heron case.  Fortunately it was loose and cool enough to be able to walk around in the abysmal heat.  As an added precaution, she wore shoes that were both professional and very comfortable to walk significant distances in.  Given the sort of person he was searching for, Scrooge had likely set up some sort of gauntlet of an interview process, and the last thing she needed was to be hampered by clothing too impractical to be of use.

When she arrived in the taxi, she wasn’t disappointed.

The taxi driver drove up to the closed gate and pressed the intercom button.  “I have a visitor for Mr. McDuck.”

“The reason for the visit?” an unfamiliar cultured British voice responded moments later.

The driver looked back at her.

“Applying for the housekeeper position,” she told him.

He leaned back towards the intercom.  “She says she’s applying for the housekeeper position.”

“Leave her at the gate.  All applicants are to walk up to the mansion per Mr. McDuck’s orders.”

The driver grimaced and turned to her.  “You going to be all right, ma’am, or should I take you back to your hotel?  Personally, I’d pick the latter.”

She gave the man a smile as she handed over his fare plus a tip.  “I was expecting something like this.  Thank you for the ride.”

With that, she left the cab and stood in front of the gate, glancing at where the hidden camera was most likely to be.  Only when the taxi drove off did the gate open, and she started walking up the driveway.

Quite frankly, she expected to be met with booby traps, but within five minutes of walking, she realized that it wasn’t necessary in this case.  The August heat radiating off the asphalt of the long, winding driveway was oppressive enough.  Had she not been in such good shape, she would’ve found herself struggling with it even after taking that extra day to acclimate herself to Calisota.  To distract herself, she glanced about and took in the scenery.

Killmotor Hill really was quite beautiful.  She even caught glimpses of animals roaming free.  Most of the Hill was made up of wooded areas which provided some shade when the sun was at just the right angle.  The air seemed a bit cleaner than that of the surrounding city, the hustle and bustle quieting to a distant drone before disappearing entirely the farther up she climbed.  While looking around, she spied periodic stone benches where one could stop and rest if they took the time to search for them.  Well, the instructions given didn’t say she had to tackle the Hill all at once, so she took advantage of three of them for brief rests to prevent overheating and sweating so much that she completely ruined her professional appearance.  Let the British man think what he will of that.  She knew _someone_ was watching for she would occasionally spy more hidden cameras, looking directly at them each time so that whoever was watching would know that she knew they were there.

Even with her exceptional physicality, it took almost two hours to reach the front door.  She was only a little winded, but that was easily fixed with a few deep breaths.  Keeping the embroidered dollar sign hidden with her hand (the last thing she wanted was for someone to think she was cashing in an old favor or something rather than applying on her own merits), she dabbed the sweat off her face with the handkerchief Scrooge had given her as a farewell gift.  Replacing it back in her handbag, she rang the bell.

Almost immediately, an aging butler maybe twenty years her senior opened the door, the dog man giving her a cool look that was neither impressed nor disappointed that she’d made the climb none the worse for wear.  “Good afternoon, madam.  Will you require a moment to recover from your climb?”

She wondered how many others had breathlessly told him that they did then dismissed the thought.  “No, thank you.  Is Mr. McDuck available to see me now?”

Again, there was no outward reaction other than the butler narrowing his eyes slightly to scrutinize her, yet he moved to let her inside.  “May I have your name please?”

“Mrs. Bentina Beakley,” she said with just as much cool professionalism as he was giving her.

He then led the way through the winding corridors, Beakley keeping her focus on the back of his head even as she mentally charted which hallways they were taking.

Finally, they stopped in front of a heavy oaken door that seemed no different than any of the others they’d passed by, the butler pressing the button for a near-invisible intercom beside it.  “Mrs. Bentina Beakley here to see you for the position of housekeeper, sir.”

There was a long pause, Beakley straining her ears to hear anything from inside.  To her surprise, she heard nothing, and she glanced down to the gap between the door and the floor, seeing no light passing through it.  She glanced at frame, seeing no light leaks there, either.

That explained the intercom: the room was likely soundproofed.  A glance at the lock indicated that a heavy-duty deadbolt lock secured the door.  Very likely this was a home office or a study where Scrooge might have to have very private business conversations that he wouldn’t want a servant or visitor overhearing.

Her nerves tingled with excitement as Scrooge’s familiar Scottish accent finally answered, “Thank you, Duckworth.  You can send her in.”

There was a muffled _click_ as the door unlocked.

The butler, now identified as “Duckworth”, opened the door to the study.  He moved to one side to let her pass before shutting the door behind her.

She took a moment to glance about.  The place smelled comfortable with the scent of aged paper from the books stacked on the warm oak shelves and the echo of past fires from the fireplace.  It was a spacious room allowing for two arm chairs and a small table in front of the mantle and a divan couch with its own side table tucked away in a shadowed corner.  Then, of course, was the desk with her former partner seated behind it with his back to the only large window currently not covered by heavy curtains.

“Hello, stranger,” he said warmly, his voice teasing.

That actually made her pause.  True, they’d worked together for a few years, but he must’ve met thousands of people over his not-inconsiderable lifespan.  The fact that he’d remembered her enough to recognize her despite thirty years of separation and age was no small feat.  It sent an unexpected jolt of pleasure through her.

During that moment, she took in his own appearance.  Frankly, for a man creeping ever closer to his one hundred and fortieth birthday, he looked decades younger than his butler.  If she’d just met him for the first time, she might have even thought he was her age at best.  As it was, it was as if he’d spent the past thirty years frozen in time for he looked no different than when she’d last seen him.

“Hello,” she answered. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“Aye, that it has though I know this isn’t a social call,” he said with a chuckle.  He motioned with his hand to one of the armchairs. “Pull up a seat.”

She did as she was told, sitting across from him.  The sunlight in her eyes was a bit uncomfortable, something that was likely intentional to set a business opponent ill-at-ease and providing potential openings.  Clever but unsurprising; she’d seen her partner’s sharp wits in regards to business plenty of times, particularly during that last year-long operation.

“I trust the Hill wasn’t much of a challenge for you,” Scrooge noted.

“The Hill itself wasn’t, but the weather provided some difficulty,” she admitted. “How many potential housekeepers have you had fainting on the way up?”

“Recently?  Two.  In total over the years, I can’t say for sure.  A dozen or so at least.”  His eyes sparkled warmly at her.  “So how was it?”

She didn’t have to ask what he meant, _knowing_ in that way they’d always been able to understand each other once they’d found their rhythm.  Her own smile warmed, and suddenly she felt as if they’d gone back in time to SHUSH, sitting in a briefing room while waiting for the director to arrive and give them their latest assignment.  “You were right:  It was a real corker of an adventure.”

“Any grandchildren?”

“Not yet, but maybe one day.”

Scrooge leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers, the high-backed chair shadowing his face a little.  “Yet you’re wanting to come all the way out here to work as a housekeeper.”

She straightened up, all business.  “I need something constructive to do now that my husband’s passed on.  Being alone in that house between my daughter’s visits with little to do doesn’t suit me.”

She saw him stiffen slightly.  There was a long moment of silence before he said awkwardly, “I’m sorry.  I had no idea.”

Beakley managed a sad smile.  “You weren’t intended to.  Getting out of SHUSH meant keeping my head down.”

He nodded his understanding.

“Do you still keep your hand in it?” she asked.

“Not really.  Ludwig assigned me to a few other agents but they weren’t as much fun.  SHUSH didn’t really need me anymore with FOWL scattered to the winds, so I decided to bow out but agreed to keep in touch from time to time.”  He smirked.  “So I know your credentials as a bodyguard are first rate but how are you at housekeeping?”

“I’m decent at preparing fancy food though I’m best at common meals.  Unless you’ve taken to eating nothing but fois gras and caviar, I trust that you won’t be disappointed to find things like pancakes with fruit for breakfast?”

Scrooge’s tongue flicked out to lick at his beak.  “You remembered!”

“It’s impossible to forget after you _demolished_ a stack almost as tall as your head and _still_ asked for seconds,” she teased. “If you weren’t so active, I would’ve had to roll you to each of our missions.”

He laughed.  “So your cooking skills sound about right for my tastes.  Cleaning?”

“I know how to handle antiques and know better than to touch anything that might be cursed without asking ahead of time.”  Scrooge had taught her the proper way to handle magical artifacts during their time together, after all.  “I also do an extensive job keeping things in order and clean.”

“Any references?”

“Aside from my late husband and my daughter, none.”

“You really did lie low, didn’t you?” he mused, resting his chin on his fist though there was a smirk of amusement. “However did you fill your free time?”

“When raising a young child, ‘free time’ is a myth,” she countered. “When she got old enough that I didn’t have to constantly watch her, I finally had enough time to put the knitting skills my mother tried almost in vain to teach me into practice.  And, of course, reading.”

“Of course,” he repeated with a laugh.  He sat up again, face turning serious. “Duckworth isn’t aware of my time in SHUSH or of our past history.”

She nodded.  “I understand.”

And Beakley did understand, for their past acquaintance put them in an awkward position.  This would not be the partnership of equals that they were used to; they would be employer and employee.  There was a certain amount of deference required on her part.  He would have to be “Mr. McDuck” to her for starters, not “Scrooge”.

He didn’t ask her if she would be all right with that.  After all, he knew her well enough to know that she wouldn’t have taken an eleven-hour flight to Duckburg if she wasn’t.

As they discussed her wages, she became increasingly aware of two things:

One, there was a glass of what smelled like mint iced tea sitting on the side table by the divan couch, the ice melting slowly in the air-conditioned office.

Two, Scrooge was careful to keep his back to the sun.

“You have a migraine,” she said suddenly, interrupting him typing on a laptop he’d previously had closed on one side of his desk.  (He’d been looking up how much storage for her things in Britain might cost to factor into her wages.)

He paused, startled.  The light from the laptop illuminated his face enough for her to see other things she’d missed with his face half in shadow, confirming her suspicions.

She pointed at her own left eye as she spoke, “You always narrow your left eye a little when you have one.  That’s why it took you so long to answer the intercom:  You were taking a moment to rest when I showed up, so you had to open at least one of the curtains and reach your desk.  Have you had anything to eat recently?  Taken any medicine?”

“It’s not that bad,” he huffed.

“I’ll take that as ‘no’ and ‘no’,” she said, crossing her arms.  She rose from her seat and walked around behind the desk, grabbing the curtains to close them.  She then turned back to her now-spluttering former partner. “Am I right in assuming you were going to hire me?”

“Yes, but—”

“Then my return ticket isn’t until tomorrow.  It should take me a week to properly pack my things and put my house up for sale.  I take it you can get me a green card to be able to legally work here while I go through the process for citizenship?”

“Curse me kilts, Ben-Beakley!  Yes, I can do that, but right now—”

“Good,” she said, heartlessly cutting him off again. “Then I would prefer to get a few things done before I return to the hotel.  I don’t require payment for them given my position won’t formally start until at least a week from now.”

He glowered at her.  “And you’ll be doing what then?”

“Making sure you eat something and get some proper rest,” she told him bluntly. “It’d be better if you went to bed, but I doubt you’ll listen to me on that.”

“I should be fine in an hour or two,” he grumbled.

“Regardless…”  She pointed to the couch.

Scrooge growled and then grimaced, obviously regretting the action.  He pressed a button near the intercom controls on his desk.

A moment later, Duckworth opened the door.  “You rang, sir?”

“Mrs. Beakley will be starting as our new housekeeper in two weeks,” Scrooge told him. “Make sure she sees the room she’ll be staying in and has a basic tour of the house beginning with the kitchen.”  He shot her a displeased look.  “She’s _insisting_ on bringing me something to eat before she leaves.”

“Very good, sir,” Duckworth said, bemused.

Beakley wasn’t sure where she stood with Duckworth but it seemed that he approved of her bullying in this case at least.

Something Scrooge confirmed as he threw up his hands in exasperation.  “You’ve hardly known each other five minutes and you’re already conspiring against me!”

“You’re welcome,” the new housekeeper said smugly as she once more pointed at the couch before falling into step behind Duckworth.

Behind her she could hear Scrooge getting up to obey, the man cursing under his breath.

* * *

 

Even if he was her ally in keeping Scrooge functioning if not actually healthy, Beakley was irritated to find that Duckworth was extremely suspicious of her.  He watched everything she did with a critical eye as if expecting her to poison their employer when given the first opportunity.

He gave her the tablets to give to Scrooge which she carried on a tray with a plate of cucumber sandwiches (“something cool and light since everyone I’ve ever met who’s suffered from migraines has had nausea accompanying it” she’d explained) and another glass of mint iced tea.  She was pleased to see Scrooge curled up on his side on the couch, his back facing the room so that his face was shielded from any potential light invading the darkness.  The first glass of mint tea was empty much to Beakley’s relief.  That was a good first step.

She set the tray down and gave his shoulder a gentle shake.  “Mr. McDuck.”  She paused and shook again when she received no response.  “Mr. McDuck.”

He lifted his head just enough to turn it in her direction.  Now that he wasn’t putting up a façade, she could see just how rough he must have been feeling.

She wordlessly handed him the pills which he swallowed with ease, chasing them down with tea.  It took a little coaxing to get him to eat any of the sandwiches, her covering the plate again when he couldn’t bring himself to eat another bite.  Another few sips of tea later, and he curled back up onto his side, closed his eyes, and dropped off to sleep.

She took the empty glass back to the kitchen, cleaned it, and then followed Duckworth on a tour of the vast mansion.  While it would take time to get used to the layout, she felt confident that she had a basic sketch of the mansion in her head.  After that, Duckworth summoned her a cab and she headed back to the hotel.

It wasn’t until she was on the plane heading back home and somewhere over the Atlantic that she was struck by a bolt of realization.

She’d been idly looking out the window at the vast ocean below and had remembered the first time she’d learned about the periodic migraines.  Fortunately, they never seemed to strike when Scrooge was up to his neck in danger which led her to believe that they were stress migraines from managing a company whose economic power rivaled that of most superpowers.

They’d been flying back from their latest assignment, and Scrooge had been much quieter than she was used to him being.  That had been the tip-off that something was wrong.  He’d been half-squinting with his left eye then, too, as he tried to avoid the sunshine.  He’d even looked a bit queasy.

Somehow, she’d recognized it as a bad headache (she didn’t attach the word “migraine” to it until much later).  Without thinking, she’d lifted up the armrest between them and pulled him to her side, remembering too late that Scrooge might not appreciate such familiar contact.  He could be quite guarded at times, after all.

However, he’d curled up beside her and slept there the rest of the flight.  That was when he’d fully let her in, trusting her completely with not just his safety but his weaknesses as well.  After that, they’d started meeting one another halfway when one or both of them needed comfort.

Beakley had never considered the idea that she might have fallen a little in love with the man over the course of them working together.  She’d loved her husband dearly (still did) and would have never betrayed him, but there was no denying that she and Scrooge had formed such a much deeper bond than the friendship most people expected risking life and limb for the world together would create.  In fact, it wasn’t unusual for mixed-sex partners (and potentially some same-sex ones) to take things to a romantic level.  It was _dangerous,_ of course, but your partner knew more about you than their friends and loved ones outside of SHUSH could ever know.

She leaned back in her seat, staring blankly at the upright tray table.  It was possible he might’ve even reciprocated back then, but there was no telling now.  It had been thirty years, after all.  He’d never married, but that didn’t necessarily mean he hadn't had quite a few lovers along the way.  Even without his vast wealth, he was a very handsome man in spite of his highly-advanced age.

She placed her face in her hand with a sigh, mutely reminding herself that any possibility of _something_ between them was long gone.  He was her employer now; trying to start a personal relationship with him was unethical and would likely lead to him being vilified as taking advantage of his position.  Besides, it wasn’t as if she hadn’t been happy and content with her husband.  She might have strong feelings for Scrooge, but they weren’t better or worse than those for the man she’d married, just a bit different.

Yet as she turned her gaze out the window, she couldn’t help wondering what would’ve happened if those old gossip rags suspecting that Scrooge’s bodyguard might become “Mrs. McDuck” had been correct.


End file.
